


Like the Moon Misses the Sun in the Morning Sky

by Ethereal_Extraterrestrail



Category: A Plague Tale: Innocence (Video Game)
Genre: 2015 because I'd rather not think about 2020 or 2021 thanks, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gay Panic, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Just... a lot of gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Extraterrestrail/pseuds/Ethereal_Extraterrestrail
Summary: Mama would have identified that look as the gaze of a dreamer.Papa would have identified it as the look of a troublesome brat who would likely be interrupting his nightly drinking sessions.Mélie identified it as the look of Amicia. One that suited her soft face and easily curious nature so well.-When Arthur suggested the absolutely brilliant idea of playing with an ouija board, Mélie hadn’t expected anything. Maybe Arthur would mess around a little, or maybe she’d mess with him, but that’d be the extent of it. Mélie hadn’t expected… whatever this was.
Relationships: Melie/Amicia de Rune
Comments: 37
Kudos: 15





	1. Ouija

Mélie grinned as she raced up the stairs after Arthur, a box of pizza in one hand and a stack of white candles teetering precariously in the other. The door to the attic creaked open as Arthur pushed his way inside, past the assortment of brown boxes they had yet to unpack and white sheets that covered old, unused furniture. 

_Mélie’s shitty art shit_. 

Ah. Arthur had definitely labeled that box. 

It had only been a few days of living with their grandparents, but Mélie should have been at least a _little_ unpacked. But nah, she chose to make her bed haphazardly, get out a few art supplies, and call it good. Besides, Arthur had kept her entertained as they explored the woods next to the old, farmhouse styled home. Their grandma had encouraged they explore, but also happily kept them busy by teaching them how to cook, something their mother never had the chance to do. Their dad just didn’t cook, so they wouldn’t have learned from him either. 

He hadn’t done anything for them, really. 

Mélie brushed away dust and dirt as she sat down, placing the box of pizza to the side, and carefully and deliberately setting up the candles in a circle around them. Arthur pulled out a matchbox and struck the match after a few strikes, beginning to light them. 

She opened the box of pizza, enjoying the aroma of greasy, cheesy goodness, and other garbage that they would be consuming, before grabbing a piece and setting it on her plate. Arthur finished lighting the candles and seized a greasy slice, shoving it in his mouth. 

Mélie eyed him, trying to figure out how they were related. “You’re gonna choke.”

“Sho? Ish I die, I die,” he grumbled, spewing crumbs from his mouth as he grabbed another piece.

Mélie rolled her eyes and reached for the box Arthur had brought up, setting it on her lap. The dust-covered, black lid with a drawing of perfectly manicured hands that were tentatively touching a white planchette looked ancient. _Ouija_ was splayed across the box in proud, white letters. 

She hadn’t played with one of these since she was eleven. At the time, she had been begrudgingly invited to a sleepover with the rest of her female classmates. They had decided to play with an Ouija board, and Mélie had pretended to be the ghost of a young girl murdered in the house. The board then told them that the father of the hostess was the one who murdered her. The night ended in a lot of tears, the mother of the hostess forcing Mélie to apologize, and the girls being sent home early. 

To put it briefly, Mélie was not invited to a lot of sleepovers after that. 

She pulled out the planchette first, and then the board, blowing the dust off of it. They had found the box on the top shelf of the ornate wardrobe in Mélie’s new room, and Arthur had insisted they try it out as soon as their grandparents left for a date night with their friends. 

Arthur polished off his second (or third) slice and unfolded the board, the _yes_ , _no_ , and _goodbye_ facing Mélie. 

“Here’s the game plan,” Arthur suddenly looked serious as he brushed his crumby hands on his sweats, “I ask the questions. If anything bad happens we say goodbye,” he pointed to the staircase, “and run downstairs. And for the love of God, Mélie, _keep your fingers on the planchette_ ,” he stressed each syllable of his last sentence, ingraining them in her head.

“I get it,” Mélie sighed, ignoring his dramatics. “It’ll be fine, just don’t be a dick and mess around.” 

_Because I wanna mess around._

Maybe she would pretend to be Marie Carnot. She knew an ungodly amount about his time as president and assassination, along with more than enough random facts about his family and personal life to unsettle anyone. She really paid attention in history, something Arthur didn't know or suspect.

Arthur placed his greasy fingers on the planchette, and Mélie placed her pointer and middle fingers on the edges of it, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“Is anyone there?” Arthur asked the air. 

Mélie rolled her eyes and said mockingly, “What are they gonna say? _No_?”

“Shush,” Arthur hissed. “It’s the first question you’re supposed to ask, so shut up.”

“Fine,” Mélie grumbled. They were silent, and the planchette slowly moved to _yes._ Arthur made little huffy, gasping noises, but Mélie was entirely unimpressed. Just their subconsciousness moving their hands and therefore moving the planchette. Science could explain all of this. Easily.

“Umm,” he exhaled slowly through his mouth, “Do you want to talk with us?”

_Yes._

Arthur’s fingers were pressed so hard against the planchette that the tips were turning white. His eyes expanded in surprise and he let out a half shocked, half happy smile and whispered, “They want to _talk_!”

Mélie smirked. Game time. How could she smoothly segway into Marie Carnot? Before she could come up with an idea, Arthur was asking, “Are you a boy or a girl?” he hesitated and added, “Or something in between.” Mélie groaned in annoyance, but Arthur merely glared at her. “We’ve got to be inclusive.”

“It’s a ghost, they don’t care or-” but before Mélie could finish, the planchette slowly but surely moved to spell out, _g-i-r-l_. 

Girl _._

She frowned, chewing her lower lip. Now she couldn’t be Marie Carnot. She looked up to glower at Arthur, but he looked just as surprised as she felt. 

“Are you nice?” Arthur asked hesitantly. “We don’t want to talk to anything evil.” The planchette slid to _yes_ with a little more ease. 

Now Mélie was really annoyed. “Stop being a douche, Arthur.” She shot him an accusatory glare. “I don’t wanna play if you’re gonna mess with me.”

If Arthur wasn’t so set on keeping his fingers firmly on the planchette, he would have thrown up his hands in the air in surrender. “It’s not me!” he insisted, his eyes wider than she had ever seen them. “I thought it was you!”

Mélie paused thoughtfully, her mind going back to every horror movie she had ever watched. Now was usually the time for some cliché question about how the ghost died, and it would end with books flying through the air, the house on fire, or some other paranormal bullshit.

But _, if_ by some possibility, this was not just their subconscious, Mélie decided she would have a little fun with this ‘ghost’. She would ask a question that had no wrong answer, and couldn’t possibly end in ‘I want to take your fucking soul’ and a possible possession. 

“How old are you?” she interrogated the board. Arthur didn’t protest her taking control and simply watched as it spelled out, _s-i-x-t-e-e-n._

Oh, it definitely wasn’t Arthur. Mélie doubted he would go through the trouble of spelling it out, or if he could even spell ‘sixteen’ _._ So it had to be her and her subconscious. 

Time to ask her subconscious something revolutionary. 

“If you were any character from _Lord of the Rings,_ which one would it be?” 

Arthur groaned, an audible sound of his annoyance. “Why would you ask _that_?”

“Shut it,” Mélie ordered, smiling. “I want to see what she says.” 

They waited a moment without an answer. Finally, the planchette inched across the board, almost hesitantly. _P-a-r-d-o-n_

“See,” Arthur looked up triumphantly. “She doesn’t know. She probably doesn’t even know what that is.”

“Okay, okay,” Mélie surrendered. “She probably isn’t very cool if she doesn’t know what _Lord of the Rings_ is, but whatever.” She took a moment to regain herself and think of something with no wrong answer. After her mind came up blank, she asked, “What is your name?”

The answer came quicker this time. Much more certain and confident. _L-a-d-y_

“When did you die?” Arthur questioned quickly before Mélie could ask what kind of a name _Lady_ was.

No response. Mélie sat and waited for a moment, watching the candle closest to her flicker and waver, creating a small halo of light. Wax was pooling onto the floor, quickly drying. That was going to be a pain to clean up. She sighed, getting ready to pack it up, when the planchette moved, painfully slow.

 _I-a-m-d-e-a-d_

If there was a question mark on the board, Mélie was almost certain this ‘Lady’ girl would have used it. The air was still and heavy, and Mélie’s fingers felt like they were on fire. It was a terrible tingly, burning sensation, very similar to the rash she had gotten from poison ivy. 

“Yes,” Arthur murmured reverently, almost apologetically. “If you’re using this, you’re… You’re dead.”

Silence. 

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and Mélie rubbed the spot, trying to ward off the sensation. “This isn’t real,” she decided, taking her other fingers off of the planchette as she began packing up the board. 

Arthur looked at her in horror, frozen. “You’re not supposed to do that.”

“This isn’t real,” Mélie repeated calmly, as she threw the board and planchette carelessly into the box. 

“We didn’t say goodbye! You’re supposed to say goodbye! It’s a _rule_.” 

“This is _not_ real!” she repeated for the last time, slamming the lid onto the box. The candles around them went out with a _whoosh_ of air, and she fought off a shudder that Arthur didn’t even attempt to hide. The subtle smell of smoke that comes once a candle is extinguished burned Mélie’s nose, giving her a headache.

“Oh no,” he sighed slowly, looking at the candle closest to him that still had a small trail of smoke floating above it. “Shit’s gonna go down, isn’t it?”

Mélie swallowed and shook her head. “No. We’re going downstairs. Ghosts are _not_ real.”

She picked up the boxes, not bothering to grab the candles before she ran downstairs, Arthur hot on her heels. He slammed the door shut behind them, running through the upstairs hallway and tumbling down the last staircase onto the ground floor, completely out of breath. 

“We fucked up.”

Mélie shook her head firmly, tossing the pizza box on the kitchen counter. She held up the ouija box and shook it in Arthur’s face. “This,” she shook it a little more, the planchette inside crashing against the box, “is a piece of fucking cardboard. There’s nothing more special about it than…” she looked around and pointed to the counter, “than that pizza box.”

“Okay.” Arthur was pale but nodding. “When are grandma and grandpa getting home?”

Mélie looked to the electric clock above the stove, emitting a green glow. “At twelve. Only two more hours.”

“Okay. I’m going to Rodric’s. I met him yesterday when you were painting.”

She frowned, sickness bubbling in her throat. The pizza must have been messing with her stomach. “This late? It’s ten and you only had two slices of pizza.”

“Three,” he corrected, “and I do not want to be at home right now because, to be honest, I’m scared out of my mind.”

“Okay,” Mélie shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you’re really that much of a pussy.” She wasn’t scared anyway. She didn’t mind being home alone. Not at all. 

Arthur studied her expression, looking for any fear, but she refused to show it, putting on her stoic expression instead. 

“I have my phone and charger if you need me,” he told her as he turned and hurried to the front door. Arthur slipped on his sneakers and yanked open the door before slamming it behind him. Mélie watched him disappear down the sidewalk through the window before she turned on the television to some random channel and helped herself to another slice of pizza. 

She watched a mind-numbing show for a few minutes before getting up to put the pizza box in the fridge. The sound of people talking in the background succeeded in comforting her and creeping her out, so she hurried so that she would be able to turn it off. 

Mélie tried to shove the box into the fridge for a few moments, before trying to move the milk. The staircase behind her creaked, and she whipped around, the fridge still open. 

Nothing.

“Arthur, I will fucking kill you,” she muttered, turning back to the fridge and rearrange the milk and yogurt to fit the box.

 _Click_. 

It was silent. The television was off. The lights were off.

The luminescent light from the fridge was now the only thing lighting the room, it being the only light pooling onto the tile and casting shadows up the wall behind her. 

“Oh nononono,” she groaned, slamming the door shut, allowing the dark to surround her. “Arthur?” This didn’t seem like Arthur. He was with that Rodric boy after all. 

“Lady?” She felt stupid for even saying her name. 

Silence. 

“If someone… something is there,” Mélie paused, grabbing a butcher knife from the knife block behind her, “I can and will fucking demolish you and… kill… you… and everyone you’ve ever loved.”

She peered around the corner into the family room, desperately wishing she hadn't left her phone upstairs in her room. The stairs creaked again, and Mélie took a deep breath, brandishing her knife, as she slowly walked toward the staircase. 

She made her way upstairs, gripping the handrail in one hand, her knife in the other. It was dark there too, and she avoided looking in the direction of the attic. She tried the hall light switch a few times, but it wouldn’t turn on. When she finally worked up the courage and snuck a glance in the direction of the attic, she was grateful to see the door was still closed, as Arthur had left it. 

Mélie opened the bathroom door and slapped the lightswitch with all of her force, but the light didn’t turn on. She grumbled and tore away the shower curtain. Nothing. She checked Arthur’s room, trying the light switch, and her grandparent’s room before turning to head to her room. 

When she turned around to go to her room, she let her hand fall to her side. The attic door. It was open.

 _Fuck. Nope._

Mélie abruptly walked past the staircase that led to the attic, heading to her room. To her phone. Absolutely none of this paranormal bullshit tonight. _None of it._ Years of horror movies had taught her at least a few things. 

Knife still in hand, she opened the door of her room. Her curtains fluttered in the breeze, but she ignored it, heading straight to her bed where her phone was. 

She picked it up and clicked the power button. She clicked it again. It was dead.

“Fuck no,” she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Arthur had his phone with him. His charger was with him. She had been using his. 

Her’s was still in the attic. 

The attic.

Mélie made a barely audible noise that resembled both a groan and whimper as she considered just hunting down Arthur. She quickly threw out that option as she didn’t know where Rodric lived. How was Arthur able to make friends so quickly?

She sat at the edge of her bed. Her fingers were numb from gripping the knife, and she gently set it on her nightstand. She decided to wait until her grandparents or Arthur came home.

Her contentment with that plan only lasted a few minutes, until she heard thumping from outside of her door. She then made a new plan. She would race up the attic stairs with her eyes closed, grab her charger, and run back to her room. Maybe have an epic fight if it came to it, but she’d prefer not to.

Like a child playing hide-and-seek, if she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. 

She made her way into the dark hallway and stood at the edge of the first stair, heart racing, palms sweating. Mélie had abandoned her knife on her nightstand, not desiring to stab herself as she ran. 

“One.” She took a deep breath through her mouth, calming her trembling nerves.

“Two.” Mélie firmly placed one foot on the stair, feeling the cool hardwood beneath her.

“Three.” She sprang forward, sprinting up the steps, her eyes squeezed shut as she gripped at the handrail blindly. 

She stumbled up the steps and past furniture, crashing into something lumpy and soft. Mélie battled with it, tangling herself in one of the cloths, and she opened her eyes, just long enough to throw the white, dust-covered fabric off of her and reach over to grab her charger where it was laying in the circle of candles. 

Mélie whipped around and sprinted, putting one hand on the door handle when she heard a soft voice ask from behind her, “What are you doing?”


	2. Wikipedia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never underestimate the power of wikipedia.

_No._ The temptation to simply open the door and leave was just slightly overwhelmed by a tugging in her gut. Despite the pull, her fingers resting on the cool metal knob began to turn the handle. 

“What are you doing?” they repeated, their voice a little louder.

She turned around slowly, wielding her phone charger like a whip. “Charging my phone,” she offered weakly.

“Phone?” the girl asked slowly.

“Phone.”

“Oh,” the girl let out, straightening her dress. “Who are you?”

“Mélie.” She looked at the girl, her mind completely blank. Mélie swallowed and let her hand fall limply to her side, accidentally whipping her leg with her charger. She winced but ignored the sting. “Who are you?”

“Lady Amicia de Rune.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her stomach rolled as she reached blindly for the door handle behind her. Her fingers found it, and yanked it open, rambling an apology. “Bye, I guess. Got a thing to go do, so see ya.” Mélie turned around and shut the door firmly behind her, still gripping her charger. 

“I’ve gone mental,” she sighed quietly to herself, her back melting against the sturdiness of the hard door. She relaxed her grip on the wire, and it fell to the floor beside her feet with a soft _thud_. “I’ve gone mental just like mam-”

“Please wait.” Mélie gasped and waited in silence as someone gently rapped on the other side door. “Please... open this door.” The handle was jiggling, and she stepped back as the door opened slowly.

Mélie took another step back and lost her footing, almost tumbling down the stairs, but an ice-cold hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back up. She was now face to face with the girl from the attic. 

Amicia.

Mélie took another moment to take in this girl, her brain finally able to comprehend her. Her dress was the lightest shade of blue Mélie had ever laid her eyes on, with a very high-waisted bodice where a lightweight fabric was gathered in a dark blue ribbon and fell to the floor. The neckline of her dress was square and very low cut, and small puffed sleeves barely covered her shoulders. Her hair was done beautifully in an elegant bun, with curls hanging loose that framed her soft face. 

Her name. _Lady_ Amicia.

The ouija board. The candles. The lights. 

_Oh God, this is worse than a paranormal house fire and possession._

“Pardon,” Amicia was trembling, her skin pale, “but where am I?”

She took a shallow breath and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing Amicia away. But when she opened them, Amicia was still there. “My grandparent's house.”

“Why am I here?”

Mélie shrugged, little clouds forming in front of her mouth with each exhale. God, it was cold up there. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Amicia was still trembling, but she didn’t make any move towards or away from Mélie. Finally, Mélie asked her, “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Mélie frowned and swallowed again, dread pooling in her stomach. “What year is it?”

“Eighteen-fifteen,” Amicia told her, her posture stiffening. “Why are you asking such meaningless questions?”

“It’s... twenty-fifteen… I think.”

“Oh.” 

If it were possible for a ghost, or whatever Amicia was, to go pale, Amicia did it. She brushed past Mélie and sat down on the top step, pulling her knees to her chin and burying her head in her arms as she took deep, shuddering breaths. 

Mélie stood by awkwardly. She wasn’t ever good with people, much less a regency era ghost girl. Amicia finally looked up, but her cheeks were not stained with tears as Mélie had expected. “I knew there something was particular about you.”

“You’re the weird one,” Mélie huffed, pulling up her collar. God, it was cold. When Amicia just stared at her, Mélie sat on the step beside her, arms folded around herself protectively, and her shoulders hunched. “Were you talking to me and my brother earlier?”

She nodded slowly. “I woke up and you two were there. You didn’t see me. You ignored me,” she murmured, “Until I moved the,” she gestured awkwardly with her white glove covered hands, making out a shape.

“Planchette?” Mélie supplied.

“Yes,” Amicia nodded.

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t suppose I know.”

“Are you dead?”

“I suppose I have to be, but-” Amicia pulled off one of her patterned leather gloves and carefully reached out, touching Mélie’s knee. Her skin was frigid, and the cold easily seeped through the fabric of her pants like ice water. “But I can touch you. And you can see me.”

“I can,” Mélie nodded, shivering at Amicia’s touch. Amicia removed her hand and stared at it, eyes squinting as she moved it towards her face and then away from it.

“I’m solid.”

“That you are.”

“I’m breathing.”

“Okay.”

Amicia grabbed Mélie’s hand and placed it on her chest. Mélie tried to pull it away, but Amicia held it there and whispered, “Is it beating?”

“What?” Mélie flushed despite the chill, still trying to retract her hand.

“My heart?” Amicia closed her eyes and listened, her head leaning back. “Is it beating?”

“Umm,” Mélie felt for a moment, moving her hand slightly to find her heart. Her fingers tingled, but there was a subtle, soft beating, as gentle as a butterfly fluttering its wings for the first time. “Yes.”

“Then I’m alive.”

“That’s not possible,” Mélie let out weakly. “You’re… no. _You’re_ not possible.”

Amicia placed her hand on Mélie’s chest, just above her heart, and closed her eyes. “Yours is beating. I’m just as alive as you,” she opened them again and looked directly at Mélie. “Unless I am a mere hallucination and you are a mere lunatic. Or vice versa.”

“I’m not looney,” Mélie insisted, pushing Amicia’s icy hand away. “And I’m not a hallucination. You’re just…” her face crinkled up, and she looked at the ground helplessly. 

_What the actual fuck is happening._

Amicia’s eyebrows furrowed as she peered at Mélie’s exhausted and terrified face. “Are you going to be ill?”

“Yeah.” 

Mélie took the opportunity to rush down the stairs and make her way to her bedroom, slamming her door behind her. She tried to lock it but realized her new room didn’t have a lock, so she settled with crossing herself by the door like she had seen her grandmother do, hoping it would stop Amicia or anything else from entering. Mélie hopped into bed, clutching her covers protectively as she let out a series of gasps and shudders. 

The butcher knife was still on her nightstand, a reminder that tonight had certainly happened, at least the freaking herself out part. But she would deal with the knife later. She would deal with the strange girl in her house later. She would deal with her mental health… later.

A gentle knocking at her door snapped her out of her daze, and her eyes darted to the door. “Mélie?” someone whispered. “I’m back.” The door opened and light from the hallway flooded into her room.

Arthur. The lights were working again.

“Rodric is with me.”

She sat up, still clinging to her sheets. “Okay.” 

Arthur’s eyes glanced over at the shiny object on her nightstand. “Why do you have a knife?” 

“Oh, that,” Mélie looked over at it and shrugged before she picked it up and held it out for him to take. “Here.”

“Not gonna do much good against a ghost,” Arthur teased as he walked over, gently taking it from her. 

“About that,” Mélie exhaled as she saw the outline of who she assumed to be Rodric in the doorway. From her angle, she could make out a girl behind him. _Amicia_. “I-I…” 

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked as Rodric took a tentative step into her room. Arthur ushered him over and handed him the knife. His hands now free, he gently grabbed Mélie’s shoulders, looking into her eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh,” Mélie choked on her own tongue as Amicia stood in the doorway, watching with a pained expression. _Could they not see her?_

“Tired?” Rodric suggested helpfully, holding the knife awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Mélie nodded, happily accepted his logical, rational, and _not_ crazy suggestion. “Tired.” 

“We’ll go,” Arthur told her softly, giving her a quick hug. “Rodric and I will just be in my room if you need anything. And I uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t want you grabbing any more knives.”

Mélie nodded, and as he left, Amicia walked past him, her skirt brushing against his thigh. He didn’t seem to notice, other than rubbing the spot absentmindedly. 

“It’s cold,” he remarked before he shut the door, poking his head back inside. “Do you need another blanket?” Mélie shook her head and the door shut, the room going dark once more.

“Why couldn’t they see…?”

Mélie flopped back against her bed, bouncing slightly. “I don’t know.”

“Ah,” Amicia’s face fell. “You believe me to be a curse.”

“No,” she sat up, pushing her covers off of her. “No. You’re not. Just...”

“It’s fine,” Amicia turned her back to Mélie, wringing her hands nervously. “I’m the living dead. A blight.”

“You’re not,” Mélie insisted. “We summoned you anyways. Or awoke you… or we just fucked up,” she finished lamely.

Amicia’s lips curved up at Mélie’s choice of words. “You choose to articulate yourself in such an artistic manner,” she laughed, her eyes glistening.

Mélie frowned, despite Amicia’s calming laughter. She didn’t want to see her. Not right now. She didn't want to be responsible for comforting a ghost.

“Can you like… leave?" she heard herself asking, the words brash. "I need to get undressed and sleep.”

“Yeah,” Amicia turned away quickly, without hesitation. “Of course.”

Mélie watched as she opened the door and shut it, her room warming significantly as soon as she left. “Mfft,” she belly-flopped back against her bed and buried her face in her pillow, letting out a high pitched shriek. “Why the fuck? Why me?”

She rolled onto her back and stared at her ceiling. The stress had finally broken her. Her mother’s absence and her father’s jail sentence had just taken a few weeks to catch up with her, that’s all. But why was being batshit crazy a better option than Amicia being real?

Mélie didn’t want to find out.

\---

A waft of cold air woke Mélie up. She groaned as she realized she must have left her window open last night. Her covers were tangled around her in her desperate attempt to warm herself, but it was futile. Mélie would have to leave the comfort of her bed and shut the window. 

With a groan, she opened her eyes slowly and was met with a pair of blue eyes right in front of her own.

“Fuck!” She shot up, bonking heads with the person. They were _freezing_.

Amicia.

 _No no nononono._ It hadn’t been a dream. It hadn’t just been a nightmare.

“Sorry!” Mélie squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead as Amicia bent over, peering at her with an almost mother-like concern. “Sorry!” 

“It’s fine,” she grumbled, opening her eyes again. “Just… Why were you so damn close?”

“I’m sorry,” Amicia held up one of Mélie’s notepads sheepishly. “I was trying to get the shading on your lips and… Sorry.” 

“Gimme that,” Mélie demanded. Amicia immediately hopped up on her bed on her knees and tried to hold the notepad out of her reach, but Mélie easily sat up and grabbed it. 

She laid back down and studied it carefully. It was a ridiculously detailed sketch of her sleeping, with almost everything completed but the shading on her lips. She was torn between flattery and being creeped out. 

And wondering if she really looked that angelic when she slept. 

“Do you not sleep?” 

Amicia shook her head slowly. “I wasn’t tired.”

Mélie studied the drawing for another moment. “So you decided it was appropriate to go through my stuff and draw me while I was sleeping, when I _specifically_ asked you to leave?”

“Sorry,” Amicia flushed a shade of pink, looking at the ground. Mélie noted that ghosts could get and lose the color in their cheeks.

“Here,” she thrust the drawing pad towards Amicia’s chest. “Next time ask.”

Amicia climbed down off of her bed, clutching the drawing protectively. “Okay.”

“It’s pretty good,” Mélie admitted begrudgingly.

The air around them felt warmer as Amicia smiled and said, “Thank you.” 

“What other things did you discover while I was asleep?”

Amicia grinned and walked over to her door, where she flicked on the light switch. “A candle that doesn’t need to be lit. And you have them in all of the rooms,” she gushed. Mélie internally groaned at the thought of Amicia up all night, testing the light switches, but she could worry about it later. 

Amicia grabbed Mélie’s hand and dragged her out of bed and to the bathroom where she turned on the tap. She put her fingers under it, testing its warmth. 

“Your water is warm without being boiled.” Amicia wiped her wet hands on her dress and left the water running, darting from the room, into the hallway. Mélie reached over and turned it off before following her down the hall, trying not to lose sight of her. 

“Your artists are so talented!” She admired a family picture on the wall, her eyes gleaming. “I aspire to be that good.” Amicia stared for a few more moments before she hopped down the steps and crashed into the kitchen. She slid across the tile in her lace slippers and flung open the fridge, proclaiming, “A _ginormous_ icebox, _without_ ice!”

“Wonder if it’s as cold as you are,” Mélie grumbled, but Amicia didn’t seem to hear, or she was too elated to care.

She sat down at the table, hands on the table in front of her, clearly proud of her many discoveries. “Isn’t this all so intriguing?”

Mélie shut the fridge, and nodded and smiled, but motioned for them to go upstairs before saying anything else. Her grandparents and Arthur were already worried about her. She didn’t need them to hear her talking to herself or an ‘imaginary friend’. 

Once her bedroom door was securely shut behind her, Mélie whispered, “It is neat, but you cannot go around touching everything.”

Amicia’s smile was wiped clean from her face as she asked, hands clasped in front of her, “Why?”

“They can’t see you, remember?” Mélie hissed, wondering what else Amicia had done last night. “What are they going to think if they just see the faucet turn on, or the refrigerator open by itself?”

Amicia frowned, chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t bother asking what a _refrigerator_ was, and merely muttered, “My apologies, Mélie.”

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that,” she begged, sitting down on her unmade bed. “Don’t be sorry just… ugh.” 

“Sorry,” Amicia apologized again, despite Mélie’s order. “It’s all just so… fascinating. And I want to understand it all. All of the technological advances,” she was murmuring absentmindedly, pulling her gloves back on.

“Do you want to understand technology?” Mélie asked, breaking her trance. 

She glanced up at Mélie, her mouth open slightly in a smile. “And societal norms of the twenty-first century,” Amicia looked at Mélie for a moment before saying, “Just looking at the way you dress, I can imagine a lot has changed.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. 

Amicia looked Mélie up and down, staring at her pajamas and messy ponytail. “Pants are for men,” Mélie let out a small protest, but Amicia continued, “And your hair is… interesting. And your bust…” Amicia blushed and looked away, “You’re clearly not wearing a corset or stay.”

Mélie flushed and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around herself until she could get on… more concealing clothing. She could explain bras to Amicia later. 

“Two things a day,” she held up two fingers after she had wrapped the blanket around herself, “We will research two things a day, and hopefully you’ll understand.”

Amicia grinned. “Where are your books on such topics?”

“Umm,” Mélie paused, “On the computer.”

“Computer?”

“Okay,” she clapped her hands together, the blanket pooling around her feet as she did so, “Today we will be learning about the computer.” 

\---

Mélie had no idea how to explain a computer without having Amicia ask more questions that she didn’t even know the answers to, so she opened the laptop and explained how to use the mouse and keyboard. Amicia learned quickly, carefully tapping on each key, and clapping each time a webpage loaded. 

Amicia set herself up on the ground with a blanket and pillow, and read up on computers for an hour or so while Mélie painted, looking over occasionally. After an hour of peaceful, blissful silence, she heard Amicia let out a delighted squeal as music began to play. She looked over to see her grinning from ear to ear, kicking her feet. Mélie rushed over to the computer and found Amicia watching a video.

“ _Cats_ ,” she cried out happily, pointing at the screen. She had gotten on her grandma’s Twitter and was happily watching a video she had retweeted. “Cats, Mélie. Do you see this?”

“Okay, okay,” Mélie took the computer from her and shut it, holding it close to her chest protectively.

She didn’t need Amicia being exposed to the _whole_ internet just yet, at least not unsupervised. Amicia let out a disappointed sigh as the mewing of kittens silenced, but didn’t argue. 

“You’ve gotta stay focused,” Mélie instructed, mentally noting to add some parental controls or restrictions to the computer and clear the search history. She _really_ didn’t need Amicia figuring out how all of that worked. 

“I learned a lot,” she smiled, leaning against the dresser.

“I’m glad.” _No more computer questions,_ she silently prayed. “What did you learn?” Mélie asked, placing the computer on her bed. 

Amicia inhaled sharply. “A computer is a machine that can be instructed to carry out sequences of arithmetic or logical operations automatically via computer programming. Modern computers have the ability to follow generalized sets of operations, called programs _._ These programs enable computers to perform an extremely wide range of tasks-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mélie held up her hands, shushing Amicia’s incessant rambling. “Did you just memorize the Wikipedia page?”

“Yes,” Amicia grinned. “I did. Wikipedia knows _a lot_.”

“Did you understand it?” Mélie raised an eyebrow. 

“A little,” Amicia shrugged, giggling. “But I will understand it all in no time. With your knowledge combined with Wikipedia’s, we could invent the next thing as significant as the computer!”

“Okay, Amicia,” Mélie sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Okay." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is for all of my historical fashion lovers (or people that just get stuck on what outfits characters are wearing). The regency era (specifically 1810-1820) had some of the BEST fashion for women. I REALLY wanted to go into detail with Amicia's dress, but this is Mélie's pov and I really don't think our girl Mélie cares that much, nor knows half of the historical fashion terminology.
> 
> Here is the dress I was picturing for Amicia, except a little less lacey and embellished (because it's not a ball gown) and a lighter shade of blue. 
> 
> https://ateliernostalgia.wordpress.com/2016/07/15/1820s-ballgown/
> 
> (I know most of you guys could have slept soundly without this but haha, I needed this)


	3. Mental

The lesson on computers and electricity hadn’t been nearly enough for Amicia, but Mélie had held true to her promise. Two things a day. No more, and hopefully, no less, unless it was an extensive topic.

The next day they had studied medicine, which ended up taking the whole day. There was a lot Amicia had wanted to know, more than even Mélie knew. Amicia delved far beyond simple things like modern practices, or even vaccines. She wanted to know how they worked and were invented.

So that night, Mélie shut the laptop, still not desiring Amicia having access to the whole internet, and had opened up the attic to grab all of her grandfather’s books that were related to anything medical. Amicia sat in the corner of her room all night, reading while she slept.

“I’d like to understand societal norms,” Amicia informed her politely the next afternoon, carefully putting a puzzle piece in place.

“Like what?” Mélie, who was lying flat on her stomach, tore her eyes away from the puzzle piece she had grabbed to look at Amicia. They hadn’t started lessons that day, but Mélie wanted a break from the constant questioning.

Amicia took the piece from her and studied it for a moment. “Like… societal expectations. The way you dress, the way you speak.” She looked up suddenly. “Are you a good example of the average woman of your time?” She fit the piece into place as she finished.

“Umm…” Mélie picked up a blue sky piece, “I’d say I’m about average.”

Amicia smiled. “I assume you’re above average, at least appearance-wise.”

“Not in personality?” Mélie raised an eyebrow, trying to not show her surprise that Amicia considered her appearance above average.

“You’re a bit…” Amicia searched for her words, her fingers skimming over the puzzle, “Brash.”

“It’s called concise, princess.”

“Princess?” Now it was Amicia’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“You’re like Lady de Rune highness fanciness or whatever,” Mélie shrugged.

“I’m not royalty.”

“Whatever, princess.”

\---

Amicia walked into the room only a few hours later, dropping a pile of books on Mélie’s stomach, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

“Today’s lesson will be about modern society,” she declared as Mélie heaved, pushing the books off of her, sending them tumbling to the floor beside her bed. “I desire to see people other than that of yourself.”

“There is a lot for you to learn though,” she sighed, “Even more than what you read on medicine.”

“Just teach me,” she begged, “Or I will get on the computer and teach myself.”

“You’re not doing that,” Mélie told her confidently. “There’s a password that will keep you from getting on it.”

“I know the password.”

Mélie sat up, her eyes wide. “What is it?”

Amicia smiled triumphantly. “A-r-t-h-u-r-s-u-x.”

She paled and frowned. How long had she known? “How did you…?”

“You’re rather predictable.” Mélie scoffed and Amicia continued, “And I watched you put it in.”

“Fine,” she decided. “I’ll teach you. But where do you want to begin?”

“How do you introduce yourself to people?” Amicia asked.

“Umm,” Mélie ran through the scenario mentally before holding her hand out for Amicia. “Hi, my name is Mélie. What’s yours?”

Amicia took it tentatively, her cold fingers sending shivers cascading down her spine. Amicia held it uncertainly for a moment, before shaking it slowly.

“My name is Lady Amicia. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Just say Amicia,” Mélie instructed, dropping her hand. Not that she’d ever need to introduce herself, seeing as no one else could see her. “And say ‘nice to meet you’.”

She nodded and took Mélie’s hand again, shaking it once more. “My name is Amicia. Nice to meet you.”

“Good job,” Méile told her. Amicia beamed at her praise. “What else do you want to know?”

“How do girls your age behave? And boys? And adults?” She sat on the floor, her chin resting on her knee.

Movies and television, she decided, would be the best way to introduce her to behavior. But what media would be appropriate? She frowned. What wouldn’t completely shock and appall a regency era ghost girl?

Star Wars? No, that would likely confuse and terrify her. Lord of the Rings? As much of a cinematic masterpiece as it was, it wouldn’t help her understand the current world. Inside out? It had just come out a little less than a month ago, and she was almost certain she would be able to stream it on some sketchy website.

The animation might confuse Amicia at first, but once they got past that, it would probably do a good job helping her dip her toe into modern society and behavior.

“Just wait right here, I’ll be back in just a moment,” Mélie promised. Amicia nodded, not seeming to want to move from her comfortable position on the floor anyway.

Mélie ran downstairs and grabbed the laptop, winding up the charger cord. She switched to her account and turned to go back to her room.

She had just set her foot on the staircase when Arthur called, “Mélie, who is this girl in a ballgown in your room?”

“Fuck,” slipped past her lips. Every inch of her, from skeleton to skin, tightened in dread.

Arthur calling, ‘Mélie?’ broke her from her trance, and she sprinted upstairs, dull dread growing a little sharper with each step. She skid on the hardwood as she turned the corner, almost banging into the wall. Arthur and Rodric were peering into her room and Amicia was still sitting on the ground, her face pale.

“I didn’t know you made friends!” Arthur grinned when he saw Mélie flying around the corner. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I… y-you,” Mélie stuttered stupidly.

“I just got here, that’s why.” Amicia seemed to have recovered and stood up, peeling off her white gloves. “Mélie, be polite and introduce me.”

She nodded weakly and walked over to Amicia. “Arthur and Rodric, this is Amicia. Amicia, this is my brother Arthur and his… uh… friend Rodric.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Amicia smiled politely, holding out her hand like Mélie had shown her just minutes before. “Wait no,” she corrected, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Arthur looked at her strangely as he shook her hand, his face twisted slightly. He pulled it away quickly, and Rodric took her hand next.

“Holy fuck you’re col-” Arthur quickly nudged Rodric in the ribs, shutting him up.

“Uh, Mél, can I talk to you for a sec?” Arthur asked, his voice lowered. Amicia looked between them for what she might be missing, but Mélie nodded and allowed Arthur to lead her into his bedroom, Rodric trailing just behind them.

He shut the door, making sure he heard a click before asking, “What the fuck is she wearing and why the actual fuck is she so damn cold?”

Mélie frowned, hesitating for far too long. “She has really bad blood circulation and likes to wear regency era-inspired clothing because it makes her happy,” she told him lamely.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nobody has blood circulation that makes them that cold unless they have no blood circulation at all.”

“Amicia does,” Mélie told him truthfully. “She’s… one of a kind.”

“Mél,” Arthur leaned forward and whispered reverently, “you’ve been acting off… since we used the ouija board a few days ago. What happened?”

Mélie pulled away and glared at Rodric. “Can he,” she motioned to him and then the door, “leave?”

“Rodric, please go,” Arthur told him politely. Once he had gone, Arthur repeated, “What happened Mél?”

She swallowed, closing her eyes. “She’s a ghost from eighteen-fifteen that we accidentally summoned when we played with the ouija board and now she’s not leaving but she’s actually really nice and I don’t mind her at all except I am pretty sure that I am losing my mind like mum,” she exhaled quickly, only stopping to take a breath.

“What?”

“One sec,” she gasped. Mélie had momentarily forgotten how to breathe, and the lack of oxygen burned her lungs and made her head foggy, her vision stumbling. She sat down on Arthur’s bed and whispered, “We summoned a ghost.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he whispered, “Holy shit, you’re not kidding are you?”

“I’m not.”

“A real, regency era ghost,” he breathed, flopping down beside Mélie, her head lightly tapping against her’s. “This is so fucking cool.”

“No,” Mélie shot up, her hair sticking up wildly, “it’s really not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I thought I’d gone mental,” she heaved.

“I thought you had too,” Arthur admitted, sitting up as well. “But I can see her, and so can Rodric, so unless we’re all mental, you’re fine.”

“We’re all a little mental.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “But what are we going to do about her?”

“She wants to understand everything modern,” Mélie laughed at the craziness of it all. A ghost. Not only a ghost, but a ghost Arthur had easily accepted.

“Me and Rodric will help,” he said. It wasn’t an offer, it was him informing her of what was going to happen.

“Rodric isn’t going to-”

“He will,” Arthur told her seriously. “He believes in ghosts.”

“But-”

“He will.”

“You’re just going to tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t blame me when he runs away screaming,” Mélie warned, hopping off of his bed to go to the door. “He’s only known you for a few days.”

“I won’t.”

\---

Rodric had taken the news very well. Almost suspiciously well. Mélie suspected he thought it was a prank, or that Arthur hadn’t even told him, but she decided not to pursue it. So what if he just thought Amicia liked vintage clothing and had poor blood circulation? It made no difference to her.

After all, he had stayed for dinner anyway, much to their grandparent’s pleasure. “If I had known you’d be staying, I wouldn’t have made plans for bingo tonight,” their grandfather told Rodric as he served more food onto his plate.

Amicia watched the exchange silently, standing in the corner like a scorned child. Mélie was almost able to forget she was there. Almost. But the slight temperature difference and the smell of flowers was just enough to remind her of her presence.

She didn’t say anything, even though both siblings and Rodric could hear her. Maybe Amicia was scared her grandparents would hear. Maybe she had nothing to say. Or maybe she was scared that suddenly, no one would be able to hear her at all.

“We could show her Un Village Français,” Arthur suggested later that evening after their grandparents had left. It was dark outside, and Mélie was going around, shutting the curtains. “It’s both entertaining and it could teach her about World War Two.”

“Umm,” Mélie paused and thought about the bits of the show she’d seen him watching occasionally. “Isn’t it a little violent and,” she cleared her throat and lowered her voice, “sexual?”

“It’s not that bad,” Arthur argued. “We can always skip some stuff.”

Mélie looked over at Amicia, who was opening and closing the fridge, trying to catch the exact moment the fridge light turned off. “She’s… sensitive.”

“It’s not that bad,” he repeated.

“Arthur,” Mélie began to explain calmly, “she’s from eighteen-fifteen. We’re not exposing her to this stuff.”

“Mélie,” Amicia called, opening the fridge again, “I read all of those medical books. Feel no need to shelter me. I am a much wiser woman now.”

When Amicia turned back around, Mélie shook her head at Arthur and Rodric. As much as Amicia knew, or thought she knew, she didn’t need to know more.

Rodric and Arthur discussed shows that would be both entertaining and somewhat educational, but Mélie kept shutting them down. Too violent, or Too sexual, or Historically inaccurate, echoed from her mouth more times than she could count. They grew tired of the bickering and switched to videogames Amicia could play. Rodric tried to get Amicia to play Assassins Creed: Unity.

“It’s about the French Revolution. She’ll learn about it,” Rodric insisted, his eyes wide as he clutched the case close to his heart.

Mélie rolled her eyes. “Dipshit, Amicia was alive after the Revolution. She knows all about it. Right?” she called into the kitchen where Amicia was still opening and closing the fridge.

“I know about it!” Amicia called back, the fridge shutting one last time. She walked over to the couch, leaning against it. “I’m not an imbecile.”

After arguing about the media that would and would not be appropriate for Amicia to consume, they settled on Minecraft. Sure, it wasn’t very educational, but they all agreed it was an important piece of pop culture for her to understand.

Amicia died before night had even fallen in the game, killed by falling off of a cliff. They had offered to switch to Creative Mode, but Amicia refused, wanting to get ‘the full experience’. Despite this, with Arthur’s help, she had created a small shelter and a bed.

When Mélie looked over at Amicia, she was grinning, the green light from the television lighting up her eyes as she placed down grass blocks. It was a strangely endearing sight, a girl in Regency-era clothing clutching a PS4 remote, and Mélie took a mental snapshot for later. Maybe she’d try to paint it, though she doubted she would be able to accurately portray the gleam in Amicia’s eyes.

Soon enough, Amicia discovered by accident that she could kill them. This also meant the discovery of dropped inventory. Before long, she was attacking them, taking all of their goods, and sprinting away. Arthur and Rodric laughed like maniacs each time this happened, and Mélie found it funny at first until she was unable to complete anything with how often she died.

“Okay, okay,” Mélie dropped her remote in front of her in defeat a few minutes later, specifically annoyed that Amicia had taken her last sword and bed, “I don’t think I can handle any more of this.”

Amicia, still clutching her remote, looked over at Mélie with narrowed eyes. “Pussy.”

Mélie gasped, and Arthur and Rodric burst into snickers. “Where did you hear that?”

“Believe it or not, I heard you calling Arthur it,” Amicia told her coolly.

“Wow, okay,” Mélie reached over and nudged Amicia playfully, “I see how it is.”

“I’m not wrong though.”

“You’re not,” the boys called out in unison.

\---

“Do you need to… uh… I don’t know… Sleep?”

“I’m not sure,” Amicia murmured after a moment. “I haven’t slept since… since I woke up.”

Their grandparents had come home, and Rodric had left, leaving just Arthur and Mélie, at least to their grandparents' knowledge. After all, Amicia was there, a secret resident of the home.

“It’s only been a couple hundred years,” Mélie teased, earning her a soft giggle from Amicia. “Let’s find out.”

She studied her floor for a moment before she lifted blankets and pillows off of her bed, placing them in a pile on the floor. She folded blankets and arranged pillows, creating a bed of sorts. While Mélie was doing that, Amicia undressed.

Mélie hadn’t ever seen a ghost undress before… or seen a ghost… or seen a girl undress, but it was strange that Amicia was able to remove her clothes. But then again, Amicia wasn’t the way Mélie expected ghosts to be at all.

She was solid. She had a heartbeat. She was practically alive.

But she wasn’t.

Mélie tried not to stare, but the combination of Amicia and the many layers of her dress intrigued her. All of the cotton. All of the fabric. Even though it had been two-hundred years since she had last undressed, her movements were natural and graceful. Her fingers easily undid the laces of her corset, nimble and quick, and she then bent down to remove her stockings.

Once Amicia had stripped down to her white chemise, she carefully folded her clothes and put them in a neat pile by the door. She walked over to Mélie, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and murmured, “I bid you goodnight,” before laying down on the pillow bed.

“It’s just goodnight,” Mélie corrected as she rubbed her tingling cheek, bringing warmth back into it.

“Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”


	4. Bubbles and Ambrosia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I checked the Plague Tale Instagram and saw they had reposted a Mélie/Amicia fanart, my little gay heart could not handle it. Seriously, I about perished from sheer happiness. But alas, I am alive and well.

Mélie woke up to Amicia again, still not having learned what personal space was. This time, she had climbed up on the bed, and she was leaning over Mélie. 

“Mélie,” she hissed gently, her cold breath washing over her face. “Mélie.”

“Mft?” She rolled over, rubbing her eyes, sunlight just beginning to stream in through her curtains. “What?”

“I was in the washroom looking at all of the… fascinating things you own,” Amicia took in a deep breath, fidgeting with her hands as she spoke, “and I turned a handle and water came out and it won’t turn off.”

“Fuck, Amicia,” Mélie groaned, stumbling out of bed. She noticed Amicia had gotten dressed, and she frowned. How long had she been awake? “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” 

She hobbled into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch. At least Amicia had figured out how to turn that off. The shower was on, and steam was filling the room. Amicia stood by nervously. 

“I turned the nozzle as far as it could go, but it didn’t turn off,” she rambled.

Mélie walked over, her socks getting wet when she stood right next to the tub. She  _ hated _ that feeling. She reached into the tub, her arm getting wet in the process, to turn the handle the opposite way until the gushing stream was cut off. 

“Turning it in one direction just makes it hot,” she sighed wearily, wiping her wet arm on a bath-towel.

“Sorry, I-I just got surprised and panicked.”

“It’s fine.”

\---

Rodric and Arthur had a lot more questions about Amicia than Mélie did. Mélie had thought most of them but didn't have the energy or patience to ask. Or maybe she just realized earlier on that Amicia likely did not know as well. 

_ How can you touch things? How can we see you? Why are you so cold? _

Amicia didn’t have any of the answers. Neither did Mélie. Until, after getting dressed after her shower, she walked behind Amicia and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to catching her attention.

Well,  _ tried _ to place a hand on her shoulder. Mélie passed right through it, and Amicia turned around, eyes wide. Mélie recoiled, clutching her hand to see that  _ she _ was still solid. 

She was. 

Amicia immediately took her own hand and pressed it against her cheek. It didn’t pass through, and when she pushed with a little more force, she just succeeded in squishing her cheek until she pulled her hand away. She looked up at Mélie like a frightened animal, before tentatively reaching out and grabbing her hand. 

It was cold, fragile, and solid . 

_ Solid. _

“What just happened?” Mélie whispered. “Why did you…?”

She frowned, clinging to Mélie’s hand. “I don’t know. I just... I didn't expect you to touch me... But then...”

Rodric, who had watched the whole exchange with wide eyes, murmured reverently, "You willed it to be."

"What?" They both whipped around to look at him.

"You willed it to be," he explained as though it was obvious, a spoon hanging from his mouth. "Amicia can't be touched unless she wants to be."

With that, Mélie drew her hand back and brought it forward quickly, slicing through the air and slapping Amicia's cheek. Only this time, it passed through again, not creating the satisfying _smack_ she had half-heartedly anticipated. 

"Why would you do that?" Amicia frowned, trying not to look upset. "That could have hurt."

"I was testing his theory," she explained sheepishly, resting her hand on Amicia's cheek.

"See," Rodric pointed with his spoon, "Mélie can touch your cheek right now because you want her to, and because you were expecting it."

"Ah," Mélie looked at her hand resting against Amicia's cool cheek before pulling it away. "Interesting."

"Indeed." 

\---

“How did you die?”

Amicia looked up, the cover of  _ Fahrenheit 451 _ covering her mouth. A thin line appeared between her brows as she answered, “I don’t know?”

“Who was your family?”

She placed the book on her lap. “I don’t know.”

Mélie sighed exasperatedly. “What  _ do _ you know?”

Amicia frowned, folding the pages of the book absentmindedly. “My name. My age. What year it is.”

“ _ Was _ ,” Mélie quickly corrected, drumming her fingers on the edge of her bed. “What year it  _ was _ .”

“Was,” she clarified, shutting the book. “Nothing else though.”

“How can you not know?”

“I just don’t,  _ okay _ ?” she nearly shouted, her voice as sharp and as brittle as a stick. 

“Okay,” Mélie told her quickly and apologetically.

Amicia sighed, a telltale sign of her softening. Her shoulders pulled back, slightly less hunched, and then relaxed, her facial muscles doing the same. Mélie waited patiently, as she continued to soften. 

She exhaled one last time, this time, sighing open. 

“I know,” she murmured, “I remember, but it’s as faint as a trail of smoke off a match. Unsteady like moonlight on the water or shadows in a storm. It-” Amicia hesitated, sucking in a breath, her chest rising and falling, “It  _ hurts _ to try to remember, so I’d rather not.”

"Physically?"

"It's like a pulling in my chest," Amicia told her, "And it makes me tired." 

“You don’t have to remember,” Mélie decided. 

After all, it didn’t matter if she remembered who she was or who her family was. It wouldn’t change anything. Amicia would still stay with her, trapped in this strange spot between life and death, or find a way to leave. 

Mélie secretly hoped she would stay. 

\---

“I-I’m so cold,” Amicia whimpered, her teeth chattering. She had buried herself under a pile of blankets, her body lost in the pile. Mélie walked over and covered her in a few more blankets, but she was still trembling. Tentatively, Mélie reached out her hand and tried to brush it against Amicia’s cheek. It passed through until Amicia reached out and grabbed it, pressing her hand to her cheek. 

It was piercingly cold, stinging at Mélie's hand.

“Why are you just noticing the fact that you’re freezing?”

“I don’t know?” Amicia shivered, her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m just really cold.” 

Mélie searched her mind for things that could warm her up. More blankets weren’t helping. Finally, she suggested, “Would you like a warm bath?”

Amicia nodded eagerly, and that’s why thirty minutes later, Amicia was in the bathtub, Mélie sitting on the countertop on her phone.

“Mélie?” a soft voice asked from behind the shower curtain. “How do I… use… this?”

“Umm…” she frowned, putting her phone down. She had no idea what Amicia was talking about. Before she could ask, Amicia yanked back the shower curtain, and Mélie quickly jumped down from the counter and turned away, staring at the wall, all in one swift motion.

“This,” Amicia said. Mélie’s back was still facing the wall. “You can turn around,” she insisted.

Mélie flushed to the tips of her ears and slowly turned around. Amicia was holding up a shampoo bottle, everything but her arms and face completely immersed in bubbles and water. Mélie heaved a sigh of relief and walked over to the edge of the tub, kneeling and taking the bottle from Amicia. 

“Here,” Amicia’s hair was in the water, and Mélie carefully grabbed it, wringing it out. “This can be our lesson for today. This is shampoo.” She poured the shampoo on her hand and rubbed it through Amicia’s hair, forming a thin lather. “It’s like soap for your hair. You use it like this.” 

“Ah,” Amicia sighed and watched with utmost fascination as her hair foamed. She tentatively took the bundle of her hair from Mélie’s hand and rubbed it, her smile growing as it continued to foam and bubble. 

Mélie’s stomach felt pleasantly hot as she watched Amicia play with her hair, adding much more shampoo than necessary, draining much of the bottle. After a few minutes, Amicia dunked down under the water. She came back up, her face dripping. Grinning, she reached for the other bottle beside her.

“Does this one bubble?”

“No,” Mélie took the bottle from her, reaching into the water, grabbing Amicia’s hand and pouring a little in her palm. “It’s called conditioner. You put it in your hair to make it soft.”

“I see,” Amicia carefully rubbed it through her hair, starting from her scalp and working it through to the ends. She watched to see if it would foam, but as Mélie had said, it didn’t. 

“You brush it now,” Mélie went to her drawer and retrieved a brush, handing it to Amicia.

“Can you brush it?”

“No,” Mélie huffed, “You’re perfectly capable.”

“Please?” Amicia looked at her pathetically. “I want to keep my arms under the water. It’s warm.”

“Fine,” Mélie sighed. But she smiled when Amicia grinned and closed her eyes, leaning against the tub. 

Ghost girl hair didn’t seem to tangle, because Amicia’s hair was impossibly soft and smooth. Mélie could have easily been done in just a few strokes, but the little noises of pleasure and relaxation Amicia was making, combined with her smile made her go for a few extra minutes, only stopping because she was afraid of what would happen when the bubbles in the water were gone.

When she was done and placed the brush to the side of the tub, Amicia opened her eyes. “Now what?”

“You drain the tub and then shower to wash off all of the soap and conditioner.”

“Shower?” Amicia quirked an eyebrow and tilted her chin.

“That,” Mélie pointed to the showerhead. “The thing you turned on earlier,” Amicia blushed at the remark, and she continued, “You just turn the nozzle. It uses tap water, and it's also warm.”

“Okay,” Amicia began to stand up, and Mélie jumped back and squeezed her eyes shut, slapping her hands over them.

“Sit down!” she screeched, her shrill voice echoing through the bathroom.

The sound of water swishing and a  _ thud _ against the bottom of the tub prompted Mélie to relax slightly, pulling her shoulders away from her ears.

“Why?” she probed, and Mélie slowly pulled her hands away from her eyes, relieved to see Amicia was still sitting. “I’m a girl. You’re a girl. It’s not terribly indecent.” 

“I-I just,” Mélie stumbled over her words, her cheeks on fire. “Just don’t do that. It’s… different… with you.”

“Hmm,” Amicia slid across the tub until her face was right next to Mélie’s, the water sloshing a little onto Mélie as she did so. She rested her arms and chin on the ledge, the rest of her, thankfully, still submerged, other than her foot popping out of the water. “Is it considered indecent in the modern century?”

Mélie blushed, trying not to stare at Amicia’s collarbone and shoulders that had emerged from the layer of foam. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Amicia smiled and removed her arms from the ledge before she reached up and yanked the shower curtain shut. “We wouldn’t want to be indecent,” she called.

“Yeah,” Mélie mumbled, standing up. She waited to hear that Amicia had figured out the shower before leaving, shutting the bathroom door behind her. 

Arthur walked past, staring down at his phone. He stopped and motioned to the bathroom. “Is Amicia in there?”

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing in there then?” he smirked, tucking his phone in his pocket.

“Helping her figure everything out.”

“Mhm,” Arthur waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “ _ Helping _ .”

“Shut it.” 

\---

“Can we please go outside?” Amicia’s voice was distant but became clearer as Mélie rolled over, slowly differentiating her dream from reality. “I want to show you something I found last night.”

“Mft?” Mélie murmured groggily, turning to look at her electric alarm clock, the green glow enough to make her squint. “It’s five in the morning, Amicia.”

“Five-thirty,” she corrected, climbing up onto Mélie’s bed. “Please?”

“Why don’t you show me during the day?” she groaned, rolling on her back to look up at Amicia. 

“Because I want to show you  _ now _ .” Amicia reached down and snuck her fingers behind Mélie’s neck, squeezing gently. The sudden cold caused her to instinctively arch up, nearly jumping out of bed. 

“See, you’re already up!” Amicia grinned, grabbing Mélie’s hand. “Let’s go.” 

The sky was pink and purple, the sun’s rays scattered along the horizon. The shadows the trees and the two of them cast were long and unnatural looking, stretching out behind them. The birds were silent. The world was still asleep. 

_ I should be too. _

While Mélie couldn’t yet see the sun, she was certain it would rise within the hour. It always did, it had no reason not to today. Unless waking up early had somehow disrupted the natural order of things. She doubted it though.

The light in the sky made it feel strange to see the moon and stars. Wrong somehow. The uneasiness quickly left, and she stifled a giggle, thinking of the time she and Arthur were convinced the world was ending, simply because they saw both the sun and moon in the morning sky. 

Amicia walked around the yard, picking flowers with the little light there was. She filled her palms with the pale yellow blossoms, a few littering the ground behind her as they fell from her hands, creating a trail of breadcrumbs that led back to her. She walked over, waiting expectantly in front of Mélie. 

“Hold out your hand.”

She obliged, and Amicia dropped a handful of the flowers into her outstretched palm. 

“What am I doing with these, princess?”

Amicia smiled, carefully grabbing one of the flowers. She pulled at the bottom of the stem slowly and sucked at the base of the flower. 

Mélie watched and sat down on the cool grass, doing the same. The petals only tore, and Amicia chuckled at the attempt.

“Let me help,” she giggled, her dress billowing out on the grass as she seated herself beside Mélie. “Here.” 

She reached into Mélie’s palm and tentatively grabbed a flower. Mélie froze as Amicia gently lifted her chin up so that she was gazing at the slowly brightening sky. 

“Open your mouth,” she urged. 

She did, and Amicia carefully pulled the stem, teasing out a string of nectar from the pale yellow petals. She coaxed the drop into Mélie’s mouth, and the sweet elixir spread across her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever tasted. Better than any honey, and even better than the smell of the sweet flowers. 

“You like that, don’t you?” Amicia smiled, and Mélie grinned, trying not to move. She didn’t want to accidentally swallow the sweetness. “Now you try.”

Amicia handed Mélie another flower, and gently held her hands, guiding her through the process. 

“Grab the little green thing,” she instructed, her breath cool on Mélie’s neck, “Pull it slowly,” Amicia’s skin warmed against hers as she pulled, a little drop growing at the base of the flower, “See that drop? That’s the nectar.” 

Mélie offered it to Amicia, and she took it smiling, closing her eyes as she tasted it again. “I bet this is the ambrosia Greek Gods consumed,” she murmured. 

“Nectar and ambrosia,” Mélie smiled, beginning to tug at another flower. “Where did you learn how to do this?”

Amicia smiled and opened her mouth, but the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She swallowed and tried again, furrowing her eyebrows. “I-I don’t know. I thought I did… but… I just remember a boy…” she finished weakly.

“Boy?” she raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“No,” Amicia chuckled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “He was younger than I.”

“Oh, okay,” Mélie squeezed the drops into her mouth, “Well, I’m thankful to whoever did teach you.” 

Amicia smiled again before she dropped a few more flowers into Mélie’s lap. They leaned back on the grass, silently pulling the flowers and greedily drinking the sweet essence. They lay like that for a long while, watching the sun creep over the horizon as the world began to wake again. 

“What will you do when I’m at school all day?” She squinted her eyes, the grass tickling her back.

“Hmm?” Amicia turned onto her side and peered at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she turned on her side as well, “what will you do without me to entertain you? Summer won’t last forever.”

“I can’t come with you?”

“No.”

Amicia frowned, pausing thoughtfully. “Why not?

“You’re a distraction.”

“What if,” Amicia reached out and grabbed Mélie’s hand, “I came every other day?”

“Maybe,” she smiled. “But what will you do on the days you can’t come?”

“I’ll paint, and draw, and research.” Amicia gently rubbed Mélie’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “And I’ll miss you.”

Mélie’s stomach bubbled pleasantly, and she fought to keep a stupid grin from forming. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Even though you’re rude.”

"Thanks," she laughed. 


	5. You Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay is the historically accurate term for what is basically a corset. Their purpose was to support the bust, not restrict or shape the waist. During the early 1800s, the term stay and corset became used interchangeably, but they did have their differences.

“We’re taking her in public,” Arthur told her, Rodric standing beside him.

“What? Why?” Mélie pulled the towel from her wet hair, flinging little droplets onto the hardwood.

“While you were showering, she told us about how much she wants to go outside in public,” Rodric explained. Mélie looked around behind Rodric into Arthur’s bedroom and saw Amicia peering around the corner shyly. 

“Where does she want to go?”

“In a store or just on a walk or something,” Arthur supplied.

“Princess,” Mélie called out, and Amicia walked up behind Rodric, “Do you want to go to the mall?”

“Mall?”

“A bunch of shops in one building.”

“Yes,” she grinned, “I would like that very much.” 

\---

Perhaps this was a bad idea. The whole experience had been a sensory overload for Amicia, and she was constantly stopping to gape at shop windows, and people walking by. She touched _e_ _verything_ , knowing Mélie couldn’t tell her to stop. 

“You’re going to catch something if you keep touching,” Mélie warned reverently.

“I can’t get sick,” Amicia laughed, carefully running her fingers over a mannequin's hand, her fingers catching on its bracelet. “I’m practically dead. Or I am.” 

She huffed, and they continued walking, Rodric and Arthur in the front, Amicia trailing further and further behind, and Mélie running back to drag her along. 

“I want to look at the clothing of your generation,” Amicia whispered, seemingly forgetting that no one else would be able to hear her.

“Arthur, Rodric, how would you like to look at clothing?” Arthur’s face crinkled, while Rodric’s lit up. Arthur looked at Amicia who was looking hopefully at a clothing shop and seemed to realize what Mélie was doing.

“You go ahead, Rodric, and I will go look at… stuff.”

“Okay.” Mélie waded through the sea of people, making sure Amicia was behind her, and walked into the store alone. Well, she appeared to be alone to anyone else watching. 

Being one of the only people in the store, the saleswoman, whose name tag read _Claire_ , immediately walked over and asked if she needed assistance. Mélie quickly waved her off, mumbling something about just browsing.

Amicia just stood by, and Mélie murmured, “What do you want to try on?”

Claire looked up from the register, putting down the magazine she was reading. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mélie called a little louder, flushing. She glanced over at Amicia and pointed at the clothes on the racks.

“I don’t know,” Amicia let out. “Just… anything.”

“Just decide.” Claire looked up and sighed, and Mélie flushed even more. 

“Okay, umm,” Amicia walked around a bit before tentatively touching a pair of jeans with flower embroidery on the pockets (Mélie realized bitterly that they were likely fake ones), and a pink t-shirt with a low scooped neckline. 

Mélie grabbed the smallest sizes of both things before walking up to Claire. 

“Could you unlock a dressing room please?”

“Of course,” Claire smiled a perfect customer service smile and looked over the items Mélie had grabbed. “You’re a bit tall to be a small size, would you like to grab a larger size, perhaps a medium?”

“No,” Mélie smiled, trying not to draw any more unnecessary attention to herself, “These will do quite nicely, thank you very much.”

“Okay,” she furrowed her eyebrows and led Mélie into the changing room, unlocking one of the doors for her. “Here you are.” Mélie walked into the spacious room with a large mirror along the wall and Claire shut the door behind her, Amicia just scraping past her to get inside.

“Here,” Mélie handed Amicia the clothes and sat on the bench along the wall, pulling out her phone to have something to look at that wasn’t Amicia undressing. She scrolled through Vine for a moment until Amicia began unbuttoning her dress. 

“Thank you for this,” Amicia fumbled with the clothes, pulling off her dress. "I've been curious about how this clothing feels and looks." She began to fold her dress, but Mélie held out her hands.

“I can hold your stuff.”

“Thank you.” She handed her each layer of clothing, taking off her petticoat, stay, stockings, and slippers. Once she was down to her chemise, she took the t-shirt from Mélie and began to pull it over her head.

“Oh no, princess,” Mélie giggled, “That’s not going to work.”

“Why not?” Amicia paused, the shirt halfway over her head.

“You’re wearing your...” she trailed off, gesturing at Amicia’s chemise cluelessly.

“Chemise?”

“Yeah. You’re going to have to take that off.”

“Oh,” Amicia pulled the t-shirt back off, and Mélie turned away, looking down at her phone. “I’ll inform you when I am ready.”

A few minutes of fumbling and sighing later, Amicia told Mélie she could look. She switched off her phone and placed it in her back pocket. The clothing fit almost perfectly, just a little loose around the neckline. She was still wearing her old shoes, and they looked a little odd amidst the modern outfit, but it was fine. 

She had also left her white, elbow-length leather gloves on. Mélie resisted the urge to facepalm. 

“Do you like it?” Mélie asked before she grabbed Amicia’s hands, pulling off the gloves gently and tossing them in the corner by the rest of her clothes. 

“I mean,” Amicia let out hesitantly as Mélie backed up, “I feel a little exposed without my undergarments… and…” she kicked out her leg, “The outline of my legs is _very_ apparent.” 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s immodest for men to see that,” Amicia frowned. "I know it is common amongst your generation, but it feels peculiar." 

“Well,” she sucked in a breath through her teeth, examining Amicia closely, “I think you have very nice legs, and I pity all of the men of your time that were unable to see them.”

Amicia flushed, staring intently in the mirror to avoid Mélie’s gaze. “Thank you.” 

She got back into her own clothing and refused Mélie’s offers to buy the shirt and jeans. “I like my clothes,” she insisted, “And those pants had holes. They were already faulty. And it didn’t have nice pockets.”

“They’re meant to have holes, and no pants have nice pockets,” she sighed but didn’t argue. Maybe Amicia wasn’t supposed to wear other clothes. Maybe she didn’t want to part with her dress. 

They left the store and began their journey to reunite themselves with Rodric and Arthur, wherever they might be. _Probably in some weird alt store._

“I’m thirsty,” Amicia whined after they had searched a few stores for the boys. Mélie glanced over and frowned.

“In the three weeks you’ve been here, you haven't been thirsty or hungry once.”

“I just am.”

“We’ll get water when we get back. Can you wait?” 

She nodded. As they walked along, Mélie stopped when she felt Amicia’s hand slip from hers. She turned around and saw Amicia ogling at two girls sitting on a bench, kissing. 

Amicia’s eyes were comically wide, and her mouth was hung open just slightly. Mélie would have been embarrassed for the couple if they couldn’t see Amicia.

“Come on,” she hissed. Amicia turned her head suddenly, and ran after Mélie, her eyes still wide.

“Sorry. Just, they were-“

“I can’t talk to you in public,” Mélie whispered. “Later.”

\---

Amicia sat down on Mélie’s bed, looking at her expectantly. After downing three glasses of water, she had finally decided that her thirst had been quenched, and she was now ready to begin her interrogation. 

“I have a few questions,” she let out, peeling off her gloves, “about what I saw.”

“Yeah?” Mélie waited, leaning against her dresser.

“Those girls… were,” she flushed and stumbled over her words, “kissing,” she finally managed. 

“Uh-huh.”

“In public.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And they were both… women.”

“It’s called being gay, Amicia,” Mélie told her flatly. She brushed back a few strands that had fallen loose from her ponytail. “Some people are just like that.”

Amicia frowned, biting down on her lip. She sat there in silence for a long while, occasionally looking up at Mélie, and then back down again. 

Finally, a look of recognition flashed across her face as she murmured, “Oh, you’re gay.”

“What?” Mélie stammered, her face flushing. She tried to speak, but it felt like someone had poured glue and sawdust on her tongue. She swallowed and tried again. “No. I’m not.”

“That must be why you were acting so odd when I bathed.”

“No,” Mélie insisted, her neck hot. “If I were…” she didn’t want to say the word ‘gay’ suddenly, as if it was a curse, “ _that_ ... which I’m _not,_ why would I not look?”

“You wouldn’t, because,” Amicia looked at her intently, “you’re a respectable gentlewoman.”

“I’m not though.”

Amicia walked over and placed a soft, cool hand on Mélie’s and whispered, “Okay, sorry for assuming something that ridiculous.” 

\---

“Mélie,” a soft voice asked as they knocked gently on the door. “Can I come in?”

Amicia dropped the History of France textbook that Mélie had forgotten to return before they moved, and the pencil she was holding, scrambling over into the corner when she realized the voice did not belong to Arthur or Rodric. 

“Come in grandma,” Mélie called out after double-checking that Amicia was not accidentally holding anything. 

She opened the door slowly and stood awkwardly before timidly sitting at the edge of Mélie’s bed. “Arthur and I talked just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Mélie raised an eyebrow. This conversation could be headed in _many_ different directions. 

“He wants to go visit your mother’s grave. I know you haven’t been since the funeral a few months ago.”

“Oh,” she breathed, trying not to frown.

“He wants to go tomorrow and was hoping you would come.”

“Oh.”

“Mélie please say something other than ‘oh’,” she sighed, her eyebrows pinched. “What time would you like to go?”

“I’m not going,” Mélie told her, her mouth pressed together in a firm line. 

“Mél-”

“I’m _not_ going. You, Arthur, and grandpa can go without me.”

“Mél-”

Mélie cut her off, holding her hand in the air. “I’ll just be a miserable brat if you make me go.”

“I’m not making you go,” she exhaled wearily. “I won’t drag you kicking and screaming like the child you once were, but if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come.” 

She waited for her to nod before getting up, gently running her fingers over the soft fabric of the quilt she was sitting on.

“Your mama always loved this quilt. Sewed it herself when she was about your age, for her future children." She smiled sadly. "Your mama was so excited to have you."

“I know. You've told me.”

She sighed and left the room, Mélie close behind her. Mélie shut the door, pressing her forehead against the cool door frame as she exhaled slowly.

Amicia was silent in the corner, seemingly forgotten. 

"I don't want to go," Mélie told no one in particular. 

“I think you should,” Amicia murmured, breaking Mélie’s daze.

“What?” She turned her head, her cheek now resting on the door, to look at Amicia.

She cleared her throat. “I think you should go.”

“Why?”

“It would be good for you,” Amicia mumbled, making her way across the room to pick up the textbook she had discarded on the floor. 

“I’m staying home and we’re watching Star Wars instead of going to some stupid grave.”

“It’s not just some stupid grave,” Amicia frowned. “It’s your mother’s. And I’m not watching Star Battles until you go.”

“It’s Star _Wars_ ,” Mélie scowled in irritation, but Amicia set her jaw, refusing to budge. 

Amicia didn’t speak, leaving the room in heavy silence. Mélie cleared her throat uncomfortably. 

“Fine, I’ll go,” she sighed in defeat after the silence became unbearable, raising her hands in the air in mock surrender, “But only if I go alone, without them.”

“Deal.” 

\---

Mélie instantly remembered why she shouldn’t have come. Why she shouldn’t be standing in front of this stone that read _Caroline Cappon_ and had other meaningless nothings engraved in it. Why she shouldn’t be holding the stupid flowers Amicia had insisted she bring that would be withered and dead within a few days.

Because, instead of being sad or weepy, like every other person on the planet she had seen, she was angry.

Furious.

Papa was the one who should be dead. After all, _he_ was the one in the driver’s seat, _his_ hands on the wheel. Mama was just a passenger.

Papa was the one who should be dead. After all, _he_ was the one who was drunk, _his_ hands that had forced Mama into the car. Mama was sober. Mama was just a passenger. 

Prison was the weakest slap on the wrist he could have received. Mélie was adamant that he deserved death. It was _his_ fault Mama was dead. 

Mélie blinked, swallowed, and moistened her lips. She would _not_ cry. Not when she wasn’t even sad that her mother was dead, gone forever. Maybe she was sad, but it was buried deep down, under the venomous thoughts that had poisoned her head, leaving her wishing it had been her father instead. 

“Here,” she murmured to the dirt, in case her mother was somehow listening, before she dropped the flowers on the grave, white petals littering the ground. Amicia watched, and Mélie turned and made her way through the sunny cemetery, trying to resist the urge to break into a sprint.

She felt the inane tugging in her gut, her legs becoming restless, and she began to run, no longer caring how odd it may look to others. Mélie stumbled past graves and stones, past others mourning, and past the dead flowers people had left for their dead loved ones.

“Mélie, wait,” Amicia called. Mélie turned and saw Amicia, clutching her skirts as she ran after her. “Wait, please,” she heaved. 

“I came, are you happy?” Mélie demanded, whipping around. Anyone watching would see a girl screaming at the air beside her. But she didn’t care anymore. 

“Not particularly,” Amicia chewed her lower lip, “But I am glad you came.”

“I came and now I’m leaving,” she told her firmly, already feeling bad for snapping at Amicia. 

“Okay. You came and that’s what counts.”

“Good,” Mélie began to walk, and Amicia grabbed her skirts again, struggling to keep up.

“I remembered something,” Amicia called.

“What?”

“I’ve been here before, to say goodbye,” she began quickly, as though she would lose the words if she took her time, “Though I don’t remember to whom. I think he was just a friend of a friend’s, and I wasn’t particularly upset, but,” she paused, “I remember this place.”

“Good.” 

“Good?”

“You remember.” 


	6. Keeping Up With the Moon

“Mélie?” She turned her head groggily and looked over at Amicia. She was wearing only her chemise, her long hair hanging loose. She had taken to undoing it at night. “I’m freezing,” her teeth chattered, and she crossed her arms over herself. “Can I,” she looked down at the covers, “Please?”

Mélie groaned and shifted to the side. Fuck it. Let her have the covers. Let her have all of the damn blankets and pillows too, she didn’t care anymore. 

“Sure,” she grumbled, turning her back to Amicia.

“Thank you.”

Mélie waited expectantly for the sheets to be ripped off of her, or as Amicia would likely do it, gently pull them away. Instead, the bed shook slightly as Amicia climbed in beside her. She wrapped her arm around Méile’s, and every nerve in her body connected with something deep within her. A low throbbing filled her head and stomach, making her mind stumble into a drunken daze. 

“Thank you,” Amicia murmured again, her face buried in Mélie’s neck.

Mélie nodded helplessly, completely paralyzed. “Uh, yeah… okay.” Amicia managed to press up against Mélie even more. “Sleep well… princess.”

“Mhmft,” Amicia exhaled as she wrapped her cold arm around Mélie.

The sensation as Amicia’s skin warmed against Mélie’s was a weird but pleasant one. Like winter thawing into spring, but in only a few moments. Mélie didn’t think she’d ever grow used to it, though she had grown to like it. 

“Are you even going to sleep?” Mélie asked after a moment of heavy silence.

“Probably not,” she mumbled, “But I was cold, and I like being close to you.”

“Oh.”

“But you sleep well,” Amicia added, “I’ll be here.” 

\---

And Amicia hadn’t lied, because when Mélie woke up, Amicia was lying next to her, her eyes closed peacefully. When Mélie shook her gently, Amicia explained that she wasn’t asleep, just ‘dreaming while she was awake’.

“That’s called daydreaming,” Mélie informed her.

“But it was night,” Amicia shrugged and smiled innocently, pulling her hair back into a bun.

“Good point.”

\---

“You mean to tell me,” Amicia stared at Mélie on the floor in front of the television, doing a plank, “that people exercise for fun?”

Mélie broke from the position, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Not for fun,” she huffed.

Arthur, who had been listening from the kitchen, called out, “She’s just trying to look fit so that she can get all of the chicks her senior year.”

Mélie glared at Arthur, and Amicia looked between, clearly missing his point. “Pardon?”

“He’s saying I want to look in shape to attract  _ people _ ,” she looked at Arthur pointedly as she said ‘people’.

“Oh,” Amicia breathed. “I find that strange, and you are attractive as it is.” When Mélie just opened and closed her mouth, her voice not working, she misinterpreted the silence and added hurriedly, “Though if it makes you happy, and you enjoy it, you should keep doing it.”

“Yeah,” Mélie’s voice was hoarse, and Arthur was trying not to snicker at her reaction.

“So,” Amicia smiled when Mélie went silent, “you should teach me how to become ‘fit’.”

“Umm,” Mélie sucked in a breath, looking her up and down, “I’m not sure if you’re dressed appropriately.”

“Nonsense,” she declared, “If Arthur simply vacates the premises, I can change into my chemise.”

Arthur stood up, grinning. “Okay okay, I can tell when I’m not wanted,” he chuckled, turning to go upstairs. “Have fun getting ‘fit’ without me.”

Mélie watched him disappear, and Amicia immediately began to get undressed, until she was down to just her chemise.

“Let’s begin!” she chirped, standing right next to Mélie.

“Okay… erm,” Mélie looked at her chemise, trying to figure out what workouts wouldn’t make her become ‘indecent’. Finally, she did an awkward lunge, Amicia watching intently. “This is a lunge.”

Amicia replicated it a few times, and Mélie slowly went over a basic workout with her, trying not to cackle when she fell over. They moved to stretching, and Mélie showed her a side-reach. Amicia replicated it, cocking her hip out to the side awkwardly.

“Amicia, don’t use your hips,” Mélie bit her knuckle. 

“I’m not,” Amicia insisted, laughing.

“Yes, you are!” Mélie pulled her hand away from her mouth and cackled.

“Then help me,” Amicia giggled, standing upright again.

“Fine.” 

Mélie made her way across the room, noting how much cooler it was by Amicia. Her breath began clouding in front of her face again, but she didn’t mind. Tentatively, she reached out and held Amicia’s hips, the cold melting through her thin chemise immediately. After a moment, it warmed slightly. 

“Now try.”

She did a few stretches, now managing to stay still with Mélie’s hands on her hips. Amicia stood upright again and froze, looking at Mélie, and then down at the hands in her hips intently. Mélie quickly remembered herself and pulled away, blushing. 

“Let’s do push-ups now,” Mélie murmured, putting space between the two of them.

“Okay,” Amicia waited patiently for further instruction, her hands clasped in front of her.

By the time they were done working out, the two of them were panting, and Amicia was wide-eyed.

“Wow,” she gasped, taking a deep breath, “I don’t know why you would  _ ever _ voluntarily do that.”

\---

“Karaoke party!” Arthur sang as soon as their grandparents had left for a friend’s house. 

Mélie groaned and Rodric grinned. Amicia just looked confused.

“Carry… what?”

“Karaoke,” Rodric laughed. “Singing.”

“And Arthur here,” Mélie jabbed his ribs, “has a  _ terrible  _ voice.”

“And Mélie here,” he jabbed her back (perhaps a little harder than necessary), “has a great voice.”

“Ugh” Mélie made a guttural noise, making a motion of strangling Arthur, “I do not, so stop.”

Amicia’s eyes lit up. “You’re singing for me… or else.”

“Or else what, princess?” Mélie teased. “You’ll die?”

She frowned, folding her arms. “No, but  _ you _ might.”

Arthur and Rodric burst into a fit of snickers, turning on the television. Arthur began passing out microphones (an assortment of his and Mélie’s hairbrushes) and decided that they would sing through the  _ entire  _ Frozen soundtrack. Mélie groaned, burying her face in her hands, but Rodric cheered.

As much as Mélie hated it, seeing Amicia laugh made it… kind of worth it. But only kind of. She slowly let herself get into it, laughing when Arthur began to sway as he sang. Arthur and Rodric sang a rendition of "Love Is An Open Door," and it just deteriorated from there. 

“LET IT GO! LET IT GO!” Within half an hour, they were belting at the top of their lungs, including Amicia, who still had no idea what was going on.

“The cold never bothered me anyway,” Arthur ended reverently before they burst into a series of cackles and giggles.

“No more,  _ please _ ,” Amicia begged, laughing hysterically. “Singing used to be an art form when I was alive.”

Arthur and Rodric laughed, but Mélie’s mood shifted with the phrase “When I was alive.” It churned her stomach and forced her to sit down. Amicia noticed after a moment and sat down next to her.

“Are you okay, Mélie?”

She looked up, nodded, and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, princess. Just tired.” 

Amicia looked at her warily, and Mélie knew she was perfectly aware of the fact  _ something  _ was wrong, but she let it be.

\---

“Let’s go outside?” Amicia phrased it like a question deliberately, likely trying not to sound too pushy. “I have something I’d like to show you.”

“More honeysuckle?” Mélie smiled.

“Actually,” she exhaled through her mouth, “no.”

“Okay, take me.”

When Amicia led her to the attic, she was confused but didn’t protest. Amicia seemed intent upon this. They crossed the attic, through the ring of candles, and made their way over to the window.

Amicia unhooked the latch, slowly pushing the creaking window out. She stuck one leg through, one hand holding the drainpipe, her other hand on the window sill. She stood up on the roof, her dress billowing in the night wind, holding her hand out for Mélie to take.

With one hand gripping the drainpipe, her other hand reaching out for her fingers to curl around Amicia’s, she hoisted herself onto the roof. They stretched out, the cool, smooth shingles pressed against their backs.

She looked over at Amicia’s expression as she stared up at the night sky and smiled.

Her eyes were like distant stars.

Mama would have identified that look as the gaze of a dreamer.

Papa would have identified it as the look of a troublesome brat who would likely be interrupting his nightly drinking sessions.

Mélie identified it as the look of Amicia. One that suited her soft face and easily curious nature so well. 

“I like the moon,” Amicia told her absentmindedly as she stared up at it, her eyes glowing in the light.

“You do?” Mélie looked over and smiled. It was a full moon. She had hardly noticed. 

“I do. It’s the only thing that hasn’t changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Amicia finally tore her gaze from the moon and looked at Mélie. A few butterflies were released in Mélie’s stomach, and she grinned at Amicia awkwardly. Amicia took Mélie’s hand in her icy one and leaned back on the shingles of the roof. 

Her skin warmed up after a moment, and she explained, “Everything has changed since I was alive. Clothing, the way you speak, what people do for fun,” she paused, “But the moon hasn’t changed. It’s still there. It still changes every day each month. It’s predictable.”

“I just think it’s pretty.”

“That too,” Amicia grinned, scooting across the roof so that she was resting her head on Mélie’s chest. “It’s beautiful. But trying to understand all of these new things… and remember the old, it’s-it’s,” Amicia sighed exasperatedly, her chest heaving up and down. “It’s like trying to keep up with the moon.”

“I don’t think I can even imagine,” Mélie admitted uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” Amicia told her. “You’re helping me keep up.”

“I’m glad.”

She rolled over, now looking up at Mélie. “I’m starting to remember some more things,” her hands reached out and traced Mélie’s jawline absentmindedly. 

“Oh?” She peered down at Amicia expectantly, her fingers tickling her face slightly. 

“Lot’s of flowers. A home like this one. Perhaps it  _ was  _ this one,” her breath wisped against Mélie’s face as she spoke, “A beautiful garden. And a little boy,” her voice broke, and she pulled her hand away from Mélie’s face. “I don’t know why, but I miss him.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“He had dimples,” Amicia found her smile again, poking Mélie’s cheeks, making small indentations where dimples would be. She swallowed. “I just know I didn’t want to leave. I feel this inane sense of hiraeth for something I don’t even remember all that well,” Amicia sighed, looking at the way Mélie had pinched her eyebrows, “but I also know if I leave, I’ll feel an inane sense of hiraeth for  _ you _ .”

The way she spoke about her life hurt Mélie, and she didn’t even want to imagine how much it pained Amicia. If her regretful expression told Mélie anything, it hurt Amicia a  _ lot. _

“If you’ll just miss me and this place, stay,” Mélie offered weakly.

Amicia looked at her, her eyes shining with moonlight and unshed tears. “Can I?”

It was then that Mélie realized Amicia  _ wanted _ to stay, likely for as long as possible, but needed a verbal confirmation. A promise that she wasn’t driving everyone crazy, that they  _ wanted  _ her.

“Of course you can.”


End file.
